


Most of it was Choices We Never Asked to Choose

by oppressa



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Introspection, Sexual Content, Slight Femdom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 17:03:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2515178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oppressa/pseuds/oppressa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack, navel-gazing after the finale. Anne arrives to take his mind off it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Most of it was Choices We Never Asked to Choose

**Author's Note:**

> Short Sunday one-shot written pretty quickly after finishing the show and not beta read, feel free to point out if I got anything very wrong. I am so late to the Black Sails party but S2 cannot come fast enough!

He sits and drinks in solitude tonight, the door closed to drown out the sound of the brothel carrying on below. He used to go down there, and watch, and enjoy, though he wouldn't touch, due to Anne's presence in the vicinity. Now he hates this place - she did to begin with - and they're condemned to stay here for the foreseeable future, having been outplayed by Vane. He still can't quite figure out how that happened. He supposes the question revolves around whether he's not as clever as he thinks he is, or if he actually is 'too clever for his own good'. It hurts to even think about Charles being right.

He doesn't turn around when someone enters without knocking, because it has to be Anne. Either that or it's their former Captain come back to kill him, but Charles for one is honest about his intentions, and the tread is definitely Anne's. He thought perhaps she'd abandoned him, when he looked for her earlier she'd slunk out like a damned cat. She puts her hand on his shoulder, then her forehead, other hand caressing the back of his neck.

“It'll be all right.” She says, with the same determination she says everything.

“Will it?” He asks, not condescending to even put on a false jollity. “Pardon me, my darling, for failing to see how.”

“Vane don't own everybody on this island.” She replies. “He don't own me, and he don't own you.”

“Anne, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but he very much still does. He might have cut us loose, but-” 

Her hand comes up and curls around his jaw to stop him talking, “Sssh, Jack.”

She begins to unbutton his shirt from behind, and it brings back bitter memories of the last time.

“Going to tie me up and leave me again?”

“You'd fuckin' let me, wouldn't you?” She idly circles one of his nipples with her fingernail, and he just shakes his head, not having enough pride at the moment to deny it outright.

The truth is, he loves this woman, and he would let her do more or less anything, even that. He would choose her, every time, offered the choice, and he guesses he just found out that she'd choose him too. 

“I didn't fuck Max.” He says, because he thinks she really believes he did. “Which is not to say she isn't incredibly attractive and I don't have to restrain myself, but to think I'd do it with you around is frankly an affront to my intelligence.”

“Didn't I just tell you to shut up?” She growls frustratedly, shoving the chair forward with her boot.

“You did.” The only other thing that comes to mind to say is her name. “Miss Bonny.”

“Come on then.”

She doesn't make him suffer this time – they've both had enough of that. He forgets the immediate humiliation and the long-term shittiness of their situation in her long hair and her lean body and her hold on him. When he's bent over her in the bed, and she's gasping because he's got his mouth on her tits, it all fades into the background, somehow. She fastens her legs around his back, pulling him into her, and it feels like he's being besieged, as always.

Afterward their problem comes back, Vane's face behind his eyelids, final damning words still ringing in his ears. He can't see any way out, and he must have said that aloud, seeing as Anne does one of her more tender gestures, burrowing under his arm.

“We'll be all right.” She says again. “We can make it all right.”

He takes it as a distant possibility, thoughtfully stroking her sharp elbow. He never can stop his mind working, but having Anne with him can at least make it sleep easier.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Lucero, “What are You Willing To Lose.”


End file.
